Lyrics Plenty Bands - Young Smokes

Plenty Bands

Bad riders, the way I’m shooting stars
We even done it out of moving cars
There’s no strings, I ain’t pulling no guitars (No way)
AMG, smoke the chase like cigars
I’m not the one to play with (Hell nah)
The Q5, inside it’s like a spaceship (Oh shit)
I’ve got workers, I don’t give 'em payslips
My plug love white, I think he racist (Ah)
Got Cali, Biscotti and Zushi
My young G’s shooting like Rooney (Pa, pa)
It ain’t Forex, the way that I trade (Nah)
We line the sales like an I.D.
parade
Damn right I was dead broke
I had no O’s, now my wrist presidential
In this AMG swerving, the tyres burning
There’s no way I can get pulled
I hopped out the Audi, straight into the Benz (To the Benz)
I shot kilos, I don’t know about F
I’m at your girl’s and my WiFi connects (It connects)
She ain’t no keeper like Petr Cech
Living reckless, spend that, an offender
Giving work to the workers, Job Centre
Fifty grand in my bag at A Jewellers
On the run, make a half a M, that’s a render
What I spent this month, like half a key
To pull me, it’s gotta be armed police
She say that she love me and it’s hard to see
Made racks in jail, it weren’t hard for me
Yo these rappers ain’t made what I’ve spent on rent
Put a hole in his sides, have a fifty pence
I ain’t sitting on no fence and my neck’s River Thames
If you ain’t talking money then it don’t make sense
You want a brick?
I’m the one you should call (You should call)
The way I spend, it’s like I play football (Football)
All these racks, I don’t need an advance
She wanna smash, I won’t give her the chance
I was in jail moving cell-to-cell
Now it’s new AP’s, I’m living well
This lifestyle started with an ounce
Free all my dargs up out the jail house
My Rollie shy of fifty bands (Fifty bands)
Go against me, you a silly man (A silly man)
Keys to the Bimma like I’m Beenie Man (Zim-zimma)
My G got plenty grams, plenty bands
My Rollie shy of fifty bands (Fifty bands)
Go against me, you a silly man (A silly man)
Keys to the Bimma like I’m Beenie Man (Zim-zimma)
My G got plenty grams, plenty bands
What I spent this month, like half a key
To pull me, it’s gotta be armed police
She say that she love me and it’s hard to see
Made racks in jail, it weren’t hard for me